getting to be a long winter

meditations and helpful hints for life after shoulder surgery

no, i'm not trying to be cute; i can only use my left hand so the shift key gets little use. surgery to repair and remodel my right shoulder was at the end of january. 3 weeks tomorrow, and i still can't lie down to sleep.

the lessons so far? the list is in no particular order and is a work in progress:

1. don't bother with a bra. putting it on is a marathon and wearing it hurts your shoulder. my lack of what used to be called a foundation garment recalls the 60's, except now the look is bigger and much, much lower -- really more like my memories of my own grandmother as far back as i can remember, whose fronts were very large and low, much more impressive than mine. once i saw her by accident right after her bath, picking each one up to pat talcum powder underneath. to a flat-chested little girl that was a strange and funny sight. i'm here to tell you now that when it's yourself it's still strange and funny, but the laugh is rueful.

1a. Avoid thin shirts and mirrors, and wear a coat when leaving the house. (good thing it's cold, i guess. except if it weren't winter and cold i wouldn't have had to clean my windshield in early december and there wouldn't have been black ice in the driveway for me to put my foot on when i reached across the car ... which is why i'm sitting here typing with one hand and whining.)

2. get one of those u-shaped travel pillows. i'd have a broken neck, too, if not for that. you can't ever get very good sleep sitting up, but with the pillow you can doze without your head flopping over and waking you up.

3. get shirts that open down the front . the arm doesn't go anywhere for the first few weeks, just hugs the ribcage and whimpers, or yells if you try to move it. when it yells, you yell. it gets noisy, and you still don't have your shirt on. being a stubborn sort, i know what i'm talking about.

4. when you get really sick of everything and everyone, try to warn long-suffering and helpful near-and-dear that you're about to turn on them. then get a closed door between you and everyone else so you can sulk or cry or swear or chew on furniture in private. otherwise your helpers may run screaming or tell you what you already know about your ingratitude. they'll be entitled, and believe me, you will need them again very soon.

5. for every pain pill drink a good-sized glass of prune juice. don't argue, don't ask how i learned. just do it. besides the obvious digestive benefit, this method makes you less likely to toy with addiction to painkillers. if you're fond of prune juice, however, you're on your own.

more later. this kind of typing is hard.